Seemingly endless
by Inkfire
Summary: Kreacher had always been a dutiful house-elf, faithful to the Nobleand Most Ancient House of Black; however, after just a few days at Malfoy Manor, he found out that life among a bunch of Death Eaters was much worse. Collab with xoxLewrahxox.


**This fanfic was written for The Silly Frog's birthday! So happy birthday love! It was also a collab with the most awesome xoxLewrahxox. Loved working with you Sarah (blows kisses).**

**Review? Make us happy :D**

_Clean the dishes,_

_Sweep the floors,_

_Polish the silver... _

Kreacher looked down at the list that his mistress Bellatrix had given him. He would fulfill the tasks dutifully, but the work-load was lighter when he stayed with Sirius.

The elf made his way to the kitchen, his eyes on the list, trying to memorise it the best he could. He had no right to fail or to slow down, especially here. The words danced in his head and he couldn't help but notice that the penmanship was unlike his Mistress Bellatrix's. It didn't matter! Just a waste of time to think such pointless things, he pondered thinking that he should punish himself, yet that would be a waste of time too.

The letters were formed and curled correctly as if one had delicately moved their hand across the page, and the capitals of each were grand and domineering the rest of the word. Grand, was something that was on every inch of this manor.

Eerily delicate, the writing was Miss Cissy's and she was as harsh as her sister under her angel-like appearance. With his second mistress, delays were unacceptable and mistakes highly dangerous.

Kreacher glanced at the clock on the wall, and he shuddered. It was nearing midday. Gasping, the elf grabbed the broom from the cupboard beside the sink and hurried out of the kitchen.

The portraits on the wall were in deep conversation with one another.

"House-elf! Hurry!" One screamed at him.

The elf jumped, and in unison the people occupying the portraits laughed and giggled.

Any Pureblood would have screamed and shouted at the portraits (Bellatrix had done on a few occasions!) but Kreacher was not permitted to, and he just turned and nodded.

As he started walking up the stairs, his eyes focused on the list. Kreacher suddenly noticed a wide shadow coming closer very fast. He looked up; a tall, white-blond haired silhouette was blocking his way, and he couldn't avoid his young master's legs. Elf and boy both lost their footing, and crashed down on the marble floor where they remained sprawled, unmoving, for a moment.

And then his late mistress's great-grand-nephew leapt to his feet.

"What in the name of hell were you thinking of, you piece of filth?" he spat.

"Forgive Kreacher, young master, he was reading his list of things to do," Kreacher croaked, "Kreacher will punish himself, young master!"

Picking up the piece of parchment from the floor, he hit himself across the face with it.

"What do you think you're holding, you stupid thing!" the young master yelled, "Give me that letter back before you stain it anymore with your filthy hands!"

Kreacher looked down at the parchment.

_Draco, my love, _

_I have missed you so much and so long I cannot fully express..._

The elf averted his eyes in horror.

This was most definitely no writing of Miss Cissy's.

"Kreacher will punish himself..." he moaned.

"I don't care, you stupid thing," Draco Malfoy snarled back, "So, you want to earn forgiveness for being a filthy and dumb servant? Bring me a glass of Firewhisky. In the library – no, in my room. My mother never has to know, understood? That will do as a punishment."

Kreacher bowed so low his nose hit the floor again. A slap hit the elves forehead, and he prevented the tears from leaking from his large eyes.

"Don't put your blood on the carpet... On second thought, bring me the bottle. And you will punish yourself for the bloodstains. Make it silent, though."

He rushed away.

Quite a dilemma was waiting for him, once he was up the stairs: should he obey the young master's orders first, and get back down, or his mother's, carefully listed on a parchment he didn't have anymore?

No! He scolded himself... He had made his master Draco angry with him.

"I shall attend to him first,"decided the elf, and he ventured back downstairs, clutching onto the broom.

The elf raced back down, to the kitchen. There he fetched a bottle of firewhisky; he always kept some, although Lucius prefered scotch and Miss Cissy, when she drank, which was a rare thing, had a weakness for bourbon. Miss Bella, though, could ask for a drink anytime, at any hour of the day – or the night, and Mister Draco himself, without his mother's knowledge, had got the habit of drinking a little – just a little – when the whole situation became too much for him.

But this was none of Kreacher's business. All he had to do was keep the bottles cool.

The elf flew back up the stairs, his heart beating twice faster with the speed of his legs and the fear of running into someone again. The young master was lying on his bed when he entered the room slowly, after knocking of course; he set the tray he had been carrying on the night table and then hurried back downstairs...

….to find himself utterly unable to find whatever he had to do now.

The portraits sneered and mocked the elf as he wandered past them.

"Elf! I heard a crash upstairs!"

"Back again elf!"

Kreacher felt anger growing inside him, yet, he stamped his feet harshly on the floor as he walked, punishing himself for feeling annoyance towards his mistress's ancestors.

Placing the broom beside the sink, Kreacher switched the oven on. He shuddered. He didn't like this punishment, but he felt it was necessary. It was his master's orders after all.

Kreacher opened the oven door and the heat overwhelmed his petite form. The elf's hand reached up and held his left ear, and he guided it into the heat. With all his might, the elf slammed the door shut, trapping his ear. Kreacher's mouth opened wide, and tears trickled down his long nose. Yet, no sound left the creature as that was Master Draco's orders...

"Oh dear.. what have we here?" A harsh voice shouted at the elf.

The oak wooden door slammed shut behind the tall, ebony-haired woman. Her eyes scanned the scene and seemed to light as she saw her elf's pain.

For Bellatrix Lestrange, pain meant screaming. Only a very strong person, like herself, could endure much suffering without saying a word. Of course an elf couldn't be a strong person – well, it was not even in the same class as a human being, for it was not a person but a thing. One didn't call a table strong; one called it solid. Solid, indeed, was the elf; yet to Bellatrix, this punishment didn't sound quite painful enough.

Bellatrix summoned the elf to her. Dragging him by his left ear, she took him to the drawing room.

She threw the elf underneath the crystal chandelier.

"Now, I give you permission to scream. _Crucio!_" Bellatrix sneered at her elf.

The elf cried, shrieked, wailed, moaned, screamed and begged under his mistress's wand. Euphoria filled Bellatrix's heart. Pain was such a wonderful thing!

"I don't expect you to manage that, of course," Bellatrix told him with disdain. She chuckled in amusement, having images of the elf trying to accomplish the Cruciatius curse.

Grabbing an ancient vase, she broke it on his head.

He screamed.

"Good," she chanted, sounding extremely satisfied. "This is perfect, isn't it? Everyone is happy. Elf, continue, you need an extra punishment for punishing yourself too softly, don't you?"

Humming softly to herself, she walked to the door, not stopping to acknowledge (in any better way than a condescending huff) a very irate Narcissa who was racing towards the sound of crashed china.

A single tear floated down the elf's cheek.

"No use crying, elf!" His blond mistress scowled.

With a glare at her sister, Narcissa repaired her personal collection of vases. Carefully, she placed them back upon the mantlepiece and turned to her sister.

Screams, and yells followed. The elf just covered his ears.

– BAD KREACHER –

Deliberately, he banged his head upon the hearth of the fireplace.

Bruises blossomed, pain spreading quickly.

Once again, Miss Narcissa interrupted him to order him to serve dinner, RIGHT NOW, for fourteen Death Eaters.

Needless to say, the elf was running once more.

Thankfully for him, he already had most of the food ready. Trying to master the trembling on his hands, he slid cucumber between bits of bread, took out the little tarts, salads and soufflés – salmon, foie gras, caviar, asparagus – before neatly placing everything on trays and getting those in the dining room as quickly as his legs could carry him.

The hum of chatter was harsh against the solid walls of the dining room. Roaring fire was playing in the hearth, and every so often, the elf's ears heard it hiss as a log crumbled and fell into the burning flames.

He then came back to the kitchen and started arranging plates for each person, with a few chosen items, artfully disposed. The elf ran between kitchen and dining room repeatedly, as the guests were taking place. Kreacher then walked down the table, offering each Death Eater a drink of butterbeer. The elf reached Draco and he sneered at the elf.

"Master Malfoy, would you like a drink of Butterbeer?" Kreacher offered.

"Yes!" He brutally took a glass and downed it in one.

"Something stronger! Get to it Elf"! Malfoy snarled.

Kreacher nodded his head saying: "Yes Master."

"This elf of yours!" Antonin Dolohov said across the table at my Masters and Mistress's. "It is very slow. I would have thought that someone of your high station..." A few Death Eaters sniggered at his comment. Narcissa looked down and began fiddling with her wedding ring.

Kreacher bowed his head, and continued to offer Butterbeer until...

"Elf! My master would like to be fed! "

Kreacher recognised it to be the voice of his mistress.

Lord Voldemort was sat at the head of the table with my mistress kneeling beside him. Her eyes were full with adoration and the elf watched as she pressed her lips to the hem of his silk robes. The Dark Lord made no acknowledgment to her and just smirked at the creature.

I SHOULDN'T MAKE EYE CONTACT! NO! NO! NO!

Fear overwhelmed the elf, and he was forced to look away. The elf knew what the Dark Lord was capable of, and he could never forget that night:

Thoughts, memories forced its way into his mind that night. The elf's heart was being ripped to shreds as if a vicious dog had savaged it. He felt a burning in his throat, remembering the deadly potion he had been made to drink...remembering Master Regulus's flailing limbs as he struggled against darkest creatures... But his mistress, now, was Miss Bellatrix, and her allegiance belonged with the Dark Lord. He had to show respect.

Whilst, Kreacher was going through the torment of that night again, the Dark Lord just laughed.

"Bellatrix! Stop looking at me in that manner! Keep your thoughts to yourself!" The Dark Lord snarled, and his mistress shrieked as the Lord's hand slapped her across her face.

Bellatrix rose to her feet, yet Kreacher noticed a tear slide down his mistress's face and this hurt Kreacher.

Her allegiance did not seem well received as Kreacher could basically hear a snappish remark leave the Dark Lord's lips everytime he went into the room, which was often; at each helping the elf brought, Miss Bella's complexion seemed a bit closer to those of the cherry tomatoes he had added on many dishes as a decoration, an initiative that had curled the corners of Miss Cissy's lips up in her first and last smile of the day. His black-haired mistress was cowering in her seat, while the Malfoys kept staring straight ahead, their faces blank.

"That niece of yours – "

"Failure – "

"Call yourself faithful – "

"Useless – "

Despite the fear gnawing at his insides, Kreacher had two things to be glad of: he didn't have to witness the whole of his mistress's humiliation, and at least he, as a good and faithful house-elf, had brought her a bit of fun earlier, though not on purpose.

The door slammed open and rebounded against the wall. Lord Voldemort smiled.

"My report has arrived!" He chuckled.

The Death Eater replied with a smile.

"Yes, My Lord."

Handing the Dark Lord the bundle of parchment, the Death Eater bowed deeply.

"Excellent! Rowle, you are of value to me..." praised Voldemort, his eyes scanning the report.

"I am alive, only to serve you my master," Rowle whispered.

"Sit! Eat! Drink!" was Lord Voldemort's response.

A pause..

"ELF!"

Kreacher visibly shuddered.

The worst had passed though: very soon, the Dark Lord left the table without a second glance or a word for his hosts. This allowed Kreacher to breathe more easily, which proved to be useful as he was running all the time. Miss Bella had sat still so far, turning various colours under her Lord's sharp, mocking words, and her fellow Death Eaters's jeering. She seemed to let off steam by stabbing her food repeatedly with her fork, without showing any intention in eating it. As soon as her Lord had exited the room, she finally stood and stormed out of the dining room, running from the humilation and suffering, leaving behind her statue-like family.

Another Death Eater sat on the chair Bellatrix had just left vacant, and barked to be brought some wine.

Mr Lucius and Miss Narcissa remained silent with their faces looking numb.

Kreacher rushed back towards the kitchen. He had wine to deliver, and dishes to wash.

The dinner never seemed to end. There was always a new Death Eater to come into the dining room, looking every bit like he owned the place, and ask for more food. Yet eventually, Kreacher ended up all alone, in front of an incredible pile of dirty dishes. He did work his way through that part of his work; however, he still had lots of things to deal with, laundry, Floo shopping, cleaning. The cleaning was longest and hardest. There were always painful hesitations: should he walk in Miss Bella's room, knowing she might as well cruciate him for touching any of her things? But it was still his duty to keep her environment clean, no matter the cost. Thankfully, today it went smoothly; she wasn't there, and the room was quite neat – no knife randomly thrown, no bloodstains on the floor, nor on the sheets. But the hardest was still to come: the Dark Lord's study and room. Going there was close enough to a death wish; yet if the study got dirty and dusty... The elf was done for. There was no way out of this nightmare, and Kreacher therefore found himself standing in front of the Dark Lord's den, frightened out of his guts.

Luckily for him, the study was empty. He quickly cleaned it beforew walking to the Dark Lord's room, which connected with his study by a door at the darkest side of the room, that went nearly always unnoticed by all the Death Eaters summoned there. The elf was reaching for the knob when the door slammed. He immediately leaped back and dove under the desk, praying ardently for his life.

From Kreacher's point of view, he could still see his mistress kneeling in front of the Dark Lord, her eyes brimming with tears which were about to spill. Her Master was glaring at her through his crimson eyes, twirling his wand in between his spidery fingers.

"My Lord, I apologise most profusely..." Bellatrix whispered.

"Why apologise when you do not mean it! You failed me Lestrange!" The Dark Lord hissed, grasping Bellatrix's hair and throwing her to the side.

The tears fell thick and fast down Bellatrix's rosy cheeks, but the Dark Lord just smirked and continued to glare at her.

"Compose yourself you weak thing!" The Dark Lord snarled.

The sniffing Bellatrix rose to her feet, her hands shaking.

"M-Master.." She stammered, and she walked closer to her Lord.

The Lord tilted his head to the left side, considering her for a moment.

Then, Bellatrix Lestrange crashed her lips against her Lord's, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Furious, Lord Voldemort pulled away and a resounding slap echoed around the study. A shriek pierced the air.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" The Dark Lord screamed, taking his wand and directing it at Bellatrix.

His nostrils flaired, and his face contorted into a grotesque expression which signalled his anger.

"_Crucio!_"

That horrifying curse was uttered, and Kreacher bit his knuckle to prevent himself from crying out.

His mistress's shrill screams were very difficult to stand for him. After what felt like ages, the sound died at last, and he couldn't hold back a whimper of relief.

His mistress's scream vanished.

The Dark Lord was searching.

Kreacher was shuddering.

Indeed, soon enough he could hear the Dark Lord's footsteps as he walked around his desk. Voldemort then bent slowly, until his face was level with the elf's.

"Elf!" The Lord snarled, his wand was still in the palm of his hand, and he directed it under the table to where the elf cowered.

Kreacher crawled from under the desk, his heart beating very rapidly in terror. As he walked to the centre of the room, obeying the Dark Lord's silent gesture, he caught a glimpse of his mistress's face. Disbelief was leaving place to rage on her features as the dreadful revelation sank in: her own elf, most lowly and disgusting creature, had just witnessed this most intimate and humiliating moment, the rejection of everything she was willing to give to her Lord. Hatred was swelling in her battered heart.

"You disgust me! How dare you spy on your mistress when she is with the most powerful man of all time! Has Potter got in contact with you?" Bellatrix shrieked, her brown eyes radiating a furious glow.

"Would you like to show your servant what it feels like, Bella?" Voldemort asked softly.

Bellatrix stood back up, a sinister determination on her features.

"Thank you my Lord, you are most merciful," she breathed.

The Dark Lord just chuckled.

For the second time of the day, Kreacher was under his own mistress's Cruciatus. Somehow the pain seemed now even fiercer and more excruciating, as if she was pouring all her frustration down on the tiny creature.

_Show him what it feels like, Bella. _

_This is what heartbreak feels like. I hate and despise you._

"Enough time wasted, Bella," the Dark Lord said, laughing cruelly. "Out," he ordered the elf, as Bellatrix lifted the curse with a look of disappointment on her features.

Kreacher obeyed, his hands shaking.

All evening long, Kreacher was haunted by these images: his mistress's face contorted by hatred, the Dark Lord's merciless crimson eyes.

He could still hear Voldemort's icy chuckle, Bellatrix's screams; the whole incident seemed engraved into his brain.

Yet, once the elf finally let sleep take over him... His dreams that night were of Regulus's face turning into Bellatrix as he vanished underneath the cold waters, dragged by them atrocious creatures. However, Kreacher was falling, falling, falling... too, and he could still hear the cruel laughter relishing in his pain.

The elf awoke feeling terrified and exhausted. He was still shaking from his punishment the previous evening, and he clutched onto his broom tightly as he entered the Dark Lord's chambers. He dreaded coming back here, but he had no choice, and surely Voldemort wouldn't be there; he was always awake early as he had important business to attend to.

The elf gasped as he saw that there was, indeed, someone in the room. From where he stood , rooted to the spot, he could see two figures lying in the bed.

_Bad Kreacher_, he thought,_ bad Kreacher_ but he couldn't help it; one step after the other he approached, and with each step he took the woman with the long, curly mane of ebony hair looked a little more familiar.

The Dark Lord had his arm around her, and they seemed to be sleeping, her thin body relaxed, as if it had never been tortured, never contorted as she screamed under the torture.

It was his mistress.


End file.
